A Letter to my Uncle

Dear Uncle Don~

I learned this morning that you left us in the wee hours of the night.

That's just like you to slip away quietly. I hope you know you were surrounded my many in mind and spirit. I'd like to think Aunt Jean was waiting for you with open arms.

I'm sure she was. And Hogan and Tom were there wagging their tails.

You were more af a dad to me than an Uncle. You were my rock.

We shared so much. Our love of nature and all living things.

Quiet moments...

There wasn't anything that didn't fascinate you.

I'll miss our weekly talks and I'll treasure all the conversations between us.

You were my confidant and true friend.

When my friends put you up in their guest room while we were packing to move, you became family in an instant. You never enter a life without entering their hearts.

You dazzled us all with your self-taught piano magic. Fats Waller would have been proud of you!

My life is richer for having known you.

There's a giant space in this world without you in it, but I know there's a new star in the sky now.

You shined bright while you were here, too.

Goodbye dearest Uncle. I know I'll hear from you again.

 I'll treasure your drawings which have a place of honor in my studio.

You were the kindest, dearest soul and I will miss you deeply.

Thank you for all you've taught me and shared with me for so many years.

Blessings to you on your new journey,

Love always,

Laurel♥

Animal Wednesday: Mimi's Soulmate

I got a frantic phone message one day from an elderly gentleman asking me if I could help him get his dog in the car because he needs to take him to a vet right away and he and his wife were unable to lift him. I called the gentleman back within five minutes, but by then a neighbor helped load the dog and off they went. He did appreciate my call however, and would be sure to keep my number in case he needed me in the future.

The future was two hours later. They had taken the dog to the vet who had painted a grim picture without much advice or hope or compassion. I agreed to meet them and their dog right away and to assess the situation. They said the dog was a Corgi and he was around 10.

I walked in the door and greeted Mimi and Ed. And then I saw Casey and my heart sank. He was nearly twice his normal weight. He had a mouth so rotten you could smell it from across the room. The only thing their vet said was that 'he has kidney disease and that's to be expected for a dog his age and there's nothing we can do except hospitalize him for a few days and give him fluids.' He said it so matter-of-factly but he failed at one of the most important things. He never looked into Mimi's eyes to see the connection between owner and dog. He stayed purely clinical and didn't show patience or respect to these sweet, elderly people who clearly loved their dog. The only thing Mimi and Ed feel that vet did right was to give them my name and number.

Here's what the next ten months meant to Casey.

First and foremost, I made an appointment with my veterinarian. It would be more than a week before we could see her and they were impatient and desperate. They scoured the phone book for other vets who could see him right away, but I convinced them that my giving fluids at home (provided by the other vet) would keep him going until he saw my vet. "She's worth the wait, I promise!" They've thanked me every day for being so insistent.

The first course of action was to treat Casey's kidney disease with a proper, low protien dog food diet. No more croissants in the morning. No sharing dinners with him. We established his age was 14+ years from looking at his records, not 10. Within 5 months we took 13 pounds off of him. I went over every single day to give him fluids under the skin to help keep his kidneys flushed, and to monitor his feedings and his progress. We all went to the vet appointments together. We got his bloodwork in good enough shape to clean up his mouth and he began enjoying his food. He would run around the long table several times a day just because he felt so good to be alive! And as much as a transformation as there was in Casey, so it was with Mimi. I'd walk in the door each day and look at her first because she was my barometer for how he was doing. They were so connected.

Things eventually began to decline a couple of weeks ago. Casey wasn't enjoying his food (which greatly upsets Mimi) and he began to walk funny. He seemed more vague to me as if he left the room but his body stayed. A recent ultrasound showed a couple of masses and funny cysts on his kidneys. And now he was dropping too much weight too fast. They could do MRI's and all sorts of extensive and expensive tests far from home but we all knew his age and other factors would probably go against any treatment.

Yesterday when I saw him we made an appointement for today to have his hind end checked out because of a new swelling. But by last night they called in a panic. Casey couldn't move his back end at all. I went over and spent a couple of hours sitting on the floor and checking Casey, but mostly letting them talk. I gave my honest opinion as I always promised I would. I felt it was time to let him go because he had nothing left to give. Mimi wanted to hold out hope for the appointment and I told her hope is a good thing.

I carried Casey to the car knowing full well that this was the last time we'd all be together. Mimi was singing to Casey in the back seat, mostly about what a sweet puppy he is. Ed was sitting in the front with me, discreetly wiping an errant tear. The doctor came in and examined him and agreed letting him go would be the kindest and bravest thing they could do. He was given a large dose of anesthesia so he'd sleep. The doctor and I let Mimi and Ed have some personal time with him and then we were all there for the final injection.

Casey was a gentle dog. An old soul in a short package. You could tell that he was grateful for the help he was getting. He never, ever complained until last night. That was the first whimper I ever heard from him in ten months.

He adored his family and he savored time in the garden with Mimi.

He lived his life with gratitude and he left us feeling more grateful for small blessings. Like Ed said when it was over, "Imagine that, we gave him 300 more days of a good life."

We sure did Ed. We sure did. And it was my great pleasure to be a part of it.

(This is a stock photo of a Welsh Corgi. Casey was camera shy.)

Animal Wednesday: Thoughts of Spring

This is an ancient illustration. You can tell by all the faults but I still wanted to post it. The three cypress trees in my landscapes (as some of you know) represent my 3 cats we drove cross country with 16 years ago. I miss those boys every day. The girl in the grass with her little companion represents new life as well as memories of days gone by.

My father-in-law passed away suddenly yesterday. He was a terrific man and he's one of the reasons we wanted to move back to the east coast, so we could be closer to him in his last years. I want to close this post by sharing something my husband wrote about him last night as a lead-in to a tribute he'll be writing on Bleacher Report.

"In memory of my father, James M. Gaylord (May 18, 1924-March 10, 2009), a decorated World War II foot soldier, a D-Day Plus 6 man who stormed the beaches of Normandy, a man who nearly froze his feet off at the Battle of the Bulge. Dad, ever since I can remember I could outrun you but in the ways that mattered I could never keep up."

Happy Animal Wednesday my friends! Now go hug someone you love ;)

Animal Wednesday: Au Revoir Mon Ami Zuby

Today I'm dedicating my post to a little patient of mine who was my friend for a year. She was a tiny, twenty-one year old tabby cat from Paris, and her name was Zuby. I became her nurse for the same reason I see lots of cats; kidney disease. I gave her fluids every other day and she never made a peep until the very end, which is one sign we knew it was time to let her go. She always sat there and purred, and often times she'd lift a paw to my face as if to ask "So how are YOU doing today?" When the weather was nice I'd carry her out to the garden and lean her into the roses. We'd talk about the birds that stopped by, or the little squirrel who used to like to check her out. Zuby would put her face up to the sun and smile, I swear. She had a wonderful, loving home. As she started to slip away, the home became too big and overwhelming for her. She paced and howled and became anxious and unsettled. She spat at me for the last three treatments as if telling me not to bother anymore. So finally, I didn't. Zuby's mom Marilyn always said she'd never force a situation on her, and my philosophy is to continue treatments only if the quality of life is still there. She was like the energizer bunny though! Sometimes Zuby's mom and I would get all choked up thinking "today's the day" only to have Zuby rally and look at us as if we were nuts, and then she'd go over and eat a whole dish of food!

Clearly though, Zuby was different on that final day. Her eyes were hollow and vacuous. She only wanted to be held. Her body had given her twenty-one great years and it had nothing left.

The vet came to the house and I gently assisted him. Her mom and another friend were there and we all raised a glass of wine in celebration of her life. She left us the same way she lived, with amazing grace.

A tiny cat with a huge capacity of love for life. She left her pawprints on many, many hearts.

Her mom is going to bring Zuby's ashes back to Paris one day to complete the cycle. Tell me that isn't love!

Happy Animal Wednesday, my friends. Here's to Zuby!

(For Marilyn and her family, with love.)

IF: Remember ' Little Girl '

One of my friend's cats passed away a few days ago. She was one of the sweetest cats I've ever known. After eight long days in intensive care, Little Girl lost her battle to kidney failure. Sadly, she was a victim of the melamine poisoning recently found in some brands of pet foods.

I remember Little Girl had huge sea glass green eyes.
She liked to sleep in late.
She insisted on drinking from the bathtub faucet several times a day.
When she chased her little foam rubber balls she looked like she needed a front-end alignment. It was hilarious!
She snored.
She had a delicate 'meow.'
She was kind and gentle.
I never got to say goodbye and I miss her.

Her dear brother Sammy was poisoned by the same food. He's home from the hospital now and is doing much better. I visit him daily to administer fluids to help keep his kidneys flushed. We're all hoping Sammy wins this fight.
I have a feeling Little Girl is right by his side, encouraging him every step of the way.

(For Judy and Carlos, with love....Auntie Laurel)

Watercolor, acrylic washes and many layers of glazing to make Little Girl seem "spirit like."